Hallelujah
by Billy Bloggs
Summary: Severus finds his Hallelujah. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince goes in a different direction.
1. Murphey's Law

Ok. It's Friday. I've just finished school for the year. There is a bottle of banana Big M in our fridge. I am in a good mood. Here is the first chapter of Hallelujah. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer**: J.K.Rowling created Harry Potter. She is a legend. Go her! I, however, am not a legend. I just like to write about certain characters from Harry Potter...even though I should probably be studying for year twelve next year. Bah.

Oh, and some of this chapter is quoted from the Half Blood Prince.

* * *

Professor Severus Snape walked across the deserted seventh floor corridor, cursing the start of another school year…and Dumbledore, and Potter and, and just life in general. His steps echoed down the cool stone hallway, shadows played around his feet.

"Why do I put up with this?" he murmured, gliding past a window clearly displaying the moonless sky.

_Because,_ said a voice in his head, _this is your fault._

He stopped abruptly, shaking the cutting thoughts from his already aching head, and strode onwards towards the Room of Requirement.

_Of course_, he admitted, _it could have been worse_, as far as school matters were concerned anyway. At least he didn't have do deal with first year potions anymore - sometimes he felt as if they simply _wanted_ to die- yet even in Defence Against the Dark Arts they had managed to cause some damage to their surroundings…namely, himself.

Why did they refuse to follow such simple instructions? He had specifically told Miss Edenbell to put her wand down, but she was either too thick-headed or foolishly rebellious to listen to his words. Instead, she _would_ decide that it would be much more interesting to set something on fire.

It was hard enough teaching a group of incompetent first years the best way of not inadvertently killing each other with their newly acquired wands, but life was not as kind as to leave it at that. It had given him the privilege of becoming a key educator to a pyromaniac.

Not that she could produce anything more than a spark, but unfortunately a spark was all that had been needed to ignite the sleeve of his robes, which had been doused in an unknown – and now obviously flammable – liquid from when a third year had ran into him after breakfast.

Even this he could have handled, but once again, life predictably employed Murphy's Law and the situation became even more…unsatisfactory. Snape could easily have dealt with the indigo flames snaking their way up the dark material on his arm, had he not been holding an explosively charmed manticore horn at that very second. He had barely had time to drop the horn and throw a shielding charm over himself and the class before it promptly blew up, destroying the table which had held his lesson plans for the next month.

There had been screams from the first years, then a shocked silence as Severus extinguished the flames from his arm and what was left of the table. He looked down as his carefully constructed plans, now nothing more than ash.

Literally fuming, he had sentenced the imbecilic child for three weeks of detention with Filch, then dismissed the class ten minutes early, hoping that he would be able to make the class room at least slightly presentable before the next group of students arrived.

"Of course she _would_ set me on fire as I was holding the horn," he had said exasperatedly under his breath, whilst vanishing evidence of the preceding chaos.

Severus had let the N.E.W.T. pupils wait a few minutes before walking to the class entrance. As he had opened the heavy mahogany door, he heard a familiar voice say, "I bet Snape gives us loads."

_Granger._

He had saved their lives… on _multiple_ occasions, but none of them had the decency to show him even the slightest bit of respect.

_Typical Griffindors._

"Inside," he had commanded, breaking the silence which had ensued at his sudden appearance.

After ordering every one to put their books away, his eyes had swept over the room, briefly focussing on Lil- Potter's eyes.

_Stupid, ungrateful fuckwit._

He began to recite the words he knew so well, but had paused when he saw the taken back and slightly disgusted expression on Potter's face. Raising his voice –somewhat puzzled, but also pleased at Potter's discomfort- he ploughed forward into his perfectly rehearsed lecture.

Eventually, Snape was forced to ask a question regarding the advantages of wandless magic, and Granger's hand unsurprisingly flew into the air. He shut his eyes, hoping to some non-existent god that someone else had the astuteness to answer the question, however, upon opening them, he found himself facing the girl again, "Very well- Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of Magic you're about to perform, which gives you a split second advantage," she had explained, eyes lit up like a bloody beacon.

He hated when she did that.

When Lily used to learn her magic books off by heart, it had made him laugh. He'd always used to pick on her for it, and she'd forever answer him with a smirk and a roll of her eyes. When Granger did it, it was just a painful reminder of everything he'd lost. All the things he wanted were gone, and it was his_ own_ fault.

"An answer copied almost word for word from _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_," he had said, hearing Draco snigger over in the corner.

_Why was his godson such an ignoramus prick?_

Draco was a good boy, but he could not seem to get over his blood prejudices. But then, it may just have been that Draco was jealous of a muggle born beating him in academics. More to shut him down than anything else, Snape continued to a deflated Hermione, "But correct in essentials."

Her face lit up again. Inwardly groaning, he had resumed his speech, then separated the class into pairs to practice wandless magic, when the thought came to him that it would be a perfect opportunity to humiliate Potter.

Snape hovered over Weasley who was struggling with his task. Potter stood with his wand at the ready, but he didn't seem to believe that he would be in danger anytime soon.

_That's what you think…_

"Pathetic Weasley, here- let me show you," he had said, and moving with astonishing speed, cast a spell at Potter.

Several seconds later, Severus was surprised to find himself pushed off balance and leaning on a desk as Potter's shield charm hit his body.

The boy was good.

As much of a dimwit as he was, the boy was _very_ good. Even though he didn't have the focus to cast a silent spell, the boy had a lot of power when it came to defence against the dark arts. Potter was stepping into _his_ domain.

_How dare he!_

"Do you remember me telling you we are practising _non-verbal_ spells, Potter?" he had asked, aware that his displeasure was clearly showing on his face.

"Yes," Potter answered.

_Never any respect._

"Yes _sir_."

Potter had stared up at him with an expression of pure contempt, saying, "There's no need to call me 'sir', Professor."

His inner self cheering, Severus had awarded Potter a detention, then spent the rest of the class picking on Longbottom's lacking skills, a stress reliever if ever there was one.

Thankfully, the two lessons after lunch were no more eventful than a History of Magic class.

Yes, Severus had sent a third year Ravenclaw girl into hysterics, but other than that they were rather uneventful.

_It real__ly was a rather quiet afternoon,_ he thought, siting the solid patch of wall where he knew the room of requirement was situated. He chuckled to himself, though not finding anything particularly funny. _The quiet before the storm, some people would say._

It had seemed as if the day was finally starting to head in a better direction. But of course, just after dinner, Murphey's Law chose to strike again.

He had been gliding down to his dungeons when he'd found them. A fifth year Slytherin boy lay unconscious on the ground, and not three metres away stood a first year girl, a recent addition to his house. A Hufflepuff fourth year stood with his wand up against the first year's bleeding cheek.

Reacting one instinct, Snape cast **_Expelliarmus _**at the Hufflepuff, whose face which had at first twisted into an expression of anger, quickly drained of all colour.

The girl gave a startled cry and backed up against the wall, her eyes rapidly flicking between her attacker and the professor, taking quick shallow breaths.

Barely retaining his urge to slam the older youth face-first into the floor, he had ground out the word, "Explain."

"I- he…not me. Help-"

"Listen boy." Snape growled, making it clear how close he was to inflicting permanent bodily damage to the one responsible for hurting his young charge. "I am giving you one opportunity, to explain as to why I should not be feeding _certain parts_ of your anatomy to the giant squid right now. Did you honestly expect you could get away with-"

"S-sir," said the child. Her voice shook, but at least she could use it unlike the filthy little coward who would soon be finding himself expelled. She stood proudly and pushed her straight blonde hair away from her face to that she could fix her blue eyes to his own.

"Yes Miss…Verrell. Please tell me what this boy has done to you and your house member so that I can get on with castrating him," Severus said, calmly.

The casual manner in his voice extracted a fearful whine from the Hufflepuff.

_That's right you filthy bastard._

"No sir! Please d-don't," she pleaded, her earnest pale eyes filling with desperation, "He was helping me sir."

"_Helping_ you?"

Severus had seen a lot of things in his life, too many things. But never had he seen someone being so obviously threatened, though claiming that their attacker was helping them. Unless he had misjudged the situ-

_Not again. Not now. Not in front of a HUFFLEPUFF._

The Verrel child had pointed the unconscious Slytherin and said, "He attacked me."

"Go on," Snape had commanded in a weary tone, running his hand through his dark hair.

"That, that boy," she pointed to her older house member again.

"His name is Reginald Queron."

"Qu-Queron, he was saying something rude about Mr Filch because he's a squib. And then I said it wasn't nice to pick on squibs. He called me some really rude things. Then I said that my little brother was a squib and that he was every bit as good as he was. Then he got really angry. He-he knocked me over and started yelling at me… and he sat on me a-and I thought he was going to-" she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself; she was shaking, "that he was going to really hurt me."

The child had seemed to be on the verge of tears, but was biting her tongue trying to hold them back. Severus immediately respected her more for that sole fact.

Queron however… he had never liked that boy. He was a good pupil yes, but was a thoroughly poor example of a quality human being.

"Let me guess," he had said dryly, trying to ignore his throbbing migraine, "This is where the Hufflepuff comes in, yes?"

The young girl nodded then turned to give her saviour a shy smile. His mouth twitched, as if wanting to return it, but seemed far too scared to let any emotion show except the face of surrender.

"Yes sir," she had said, in a much brighter voice. "He saw us and then I heard him yell something, then Queron flew up and smashed into the wall. Neil –that's the Hufflepuff's name sir, Neil Howell- he helped me up. And then he was fixing a cut on my cheek but you knocked his wand away and…and that's all sir."

"I see."

What ever happened to the day where he could just return to his chambers and spend the night reading?

"Miss Verrel, if you are okay, please return to your common room…and don't worry about Queron; I will deal with him," he explained, causing a thankful grin to flicker across her face, "He won't bother you any more."

She had cast one last nervous glance to Howell, then hurried down towards the Slytherin house room, undoubtedly to hide away in the protection of her dormitory.

"Howell."

The Hufflepuff had looked up with an almost hopeful expression in his eyes, "Yes, Professor Snape?"

Snape had flattened that same expression with a simple glare.

"Mr Howell, you may have saved Miss Verell from some certain…_hostility _from Mr Queron, yet you do seem to have knocked a fellow student unconscious. If I were you, Mr Howell, I would remove myself from my sight before I take off housepoints, or possibly give you a few detentions with Filch… he has just been so _upset _since Umbridge left the school. I heard that he's taking out his anguish on the students…" He trailed off with a smirk, looking at the Hufflepuff's twitching hands.

"Y-yes sir. I'll be going now sir. S-sorry sir," he stuttered, backing off slowly then breaking into a run.

"NO RUNNING IN THE CORRIDORS HOWELL! FIVE POINTS FROM HUFFLEPUFF!"

Snape had heard a muffled whimper from around the corner where the boy had run, and sniggered. Messing with the minds off Hufflepuffs was almost as therapeutic as making Longbottom nervous…though not as satisfying as Potter's detention would be.

Severus then had walked over to Queron, kneeling down beside his head.

"_Ennervate"_

The boy opened his eyes, blinked twice, then frowned as he noticed the person sitting next to him.

"Fuck."

"Yes, Mr Queron. I would say that that pretty much sums up your situation right now. You know, I would give you a few detentions for what you tried to do to Miss Verrel, but I cannot be bothered wasting my time on you."

Queron blinked, waiting for the expected catch.

"Of course," Snape continued, "You mustn't remain unpunished, so how about I explain the situation to Mr Filch. I'm sure he can determine your retribution for the situation you have caused… what do you think of that?"

The boy struggled to his feet, whilst rubbing a small bulge on the side of his head. He wore an amused look as he said nonchalantly, "I think that you're a sick bastard… Nice work sir."

Snape had smirked at his response.

"You're very much welcome, Queron. But on a more serious matter, if I find that you've laid one _finger_ upon Miss Verrel or any other student again; I will take the matter to the headmaster. Understand?"

"Yes sir," Queron had answered, with a curt nod of his head.

"Be gone."

"Gladley"

It was at this time that Snape had decided to retreat from the rest of the school world, lest something else dramatic happened and he made more of an idiot out of himself…Or injured someone- but mainly to escape any further degradation.

Back on the seventh floor, Severus reached for the handle of the door which led to the room of requirement. With a quick glance up and down the hall way, he pulled open the safeguard of his sanity, and then stepped into his mind's asylum.

The room looked the same it always did when he came.

Rich red carpet covered the floor of the average sized room which was shaped like an 'L'. The walls were an earthy colour…a safe colour, it almost had the feeling of home. Like a true home, not just a place where he lived. Some brown, comfortable looking armchairs surrounded a solid stone fire place, from in which burnt cool turquoise flames.

Above the fireplace, perched horizontally across the wall, was a long mirror held in an ornately carved frame. It was old, parts of the frame had been chipped away, as had parts of the mirror itself. Severus could clearly see himself, framed by the rectangular doorway, in its reflection.

He moved forward, gently closing the door behind him, before walking closer into the mirror. His reflection seemed tired, it was always tired.

_What would it be like not to be tired?_

He snorted. There was no use sulking about his fatigue. He deserved it for what he had done all those years ago. What he'd done to her… He had brought the plague upon himself.

Around the darkened corner of the 'L', blocked of from the fire's light, there were numerous bookshelves against the walls; all filled with sheet music. Thousands of dusty pages sat anxiously waiting to be pulled from disuse, to have their melodies released into to the world which once knew them so well.

Severus now fixed his gaze on the centre piece of the room: an old grand piano, its mouth wide open to let its voice pour forth with ease. It was probably much older than himself –though he wasn't particularly old…physically, at least- with some of the keys looking quite worn and yellowed.

He sat at the piano stool which creaked under his weight. With an almost relieved sigh, Snape launched straight into Prokofiev's 'Evening' for a warm up. It wasn't one of his favourite songs, but as the clear notes filled his mind, his memories of the day and other recent happenings drifted away, if only temporarily. The music , it was like a force, dragging every wounded little memory away from him. It was addictive.

This place, this was the shelter from his life. The room, the piano. It was his and his alone. He played the music with _his_ hands, and listened with _his_ ears. No one commanded him in this room. He could control what he did. The volume and length of every note was for him to decide. He was in charge of his actions, if only whilst in that _one_ room.

Soon after the last notes of 'Evening' faded into nothingness, Severus turned his head to the left of the piano, then grasped for the metronome seated on a small, shaky side table. He adjusted the weight with his long fingers, setting the pace of its beat.

Once happy with its position, he began to play again, all of the songs coming from his memory. Severus never liked to read music. You couldn't shut your eyes…couldn't listen properly. It was much easier to learn a song from heart, then never look at it on paper again.

It may have been minutes, or even hours before the heard the approaching intruder alarm. He had been so absorbed the songs that he hadn't noticed how much time had passed…minutes, or was it hours, perhaps? The alarm instantly cut of his melody, and he looked up in surprise at the door. Only Dumbledore knew he came here, and he would never dare to interrupt him.

Snape stood up quickly, silently, then hid around the corner in the room, ducking in between two bookshelves, becoming lost in the shadow. He didn't want to be seen in that room, but he was also curious about who would want to come to this particular place.

Without the piano's music, it was eerily silent except for the steady crackle of the fire and-

_Shit. The metronome. Hate to make it obvious that someone was just here, Severus._

He made to walk towards the offending silence breaker, but pulled himself back as the door began to ease open.

The metronome ticked lazily, yet hitting the beat with exact precision.

With a creak from the door, the intruder crept into the room slowly, as if she knew that she didn't really belong. She sited the piano and a surprisingly pretty smile fluttered across her face.

_Tick, tick, tick, tick_

She walked around it, hand trailing along its aged wooden features, almost as if asking for its respect, a soft smile still pulling at her lips.

_Tick, tick, tick, tick_

Severus stared at his unwelcome guest, one thought crossing his mind.

_If someo__ne had to interrupt me, why did it have to be her of all people?_

_Because,_ said an answering voice, _that's Murphey's Law._

_Tick, tick, tick, tick.

* * *

_A fair chunk of this chapter was written in the Pluperfect tense (elvis _had_ left the building, rather than he _has)_. I am letting you know right now that I hate the pluperfect tense, as I cannot write in it very well. I will try to avoid this in the future. Sorry - Billy

P.s. If you like me and want to make me feel good, feel free to press the little review button.


	2. Dreaming

_Not so happy today.I have to clean my room and I didn't write enough. That's a fair bit annoying. But I suppose I'll get over it. Look on the bright side. There is a tub of cream in the fridge, and bananas in the fruit bowl. Yay. I feel better now. Excuse my ramblings._

_Disclaimer: I don't have a life, as I have said on many previous occasions. If I don't have a life, how could I own Harry Potter?_

* * *

"You can't seriously tell me that you've already finished your homework?" Ron asked, fully turning to face her from his chair, in an openly incredulous tone.

_You idiot._

"Ron," she said, exasperatedly, "I had a free period this afternoon, and in case you didn't realise, you're allowed to use them to do homework."

Ron frowned as if trying to…_think._ "But they're _free_ periods, Hermione," he protested, "they're _breaks._ We shouldn't have to do any work."

Hermione couldn't control herself, groaning and slapping her hand to her forehead. He was a complete and total moron…yet she still loved him to bits. How embarrassing was that?

"Okay, Ron," she said, looking up, then trying hard not to laugh at his expression, "If you want to leave all of your homework for later, and stay up 'til one every night finishing it, have fun with that. But you've never struck me as the sort of person who can function well under long term sleep deprivation."

"But Hermione," he whined, "It's a break."

"Good God."

Hermione swung around to Harry who was sitting at a table a few metres away, feverishly writing his Defence Against the Dark Arts essay. His face was hovering maybe two inches away from the page.

"Harry," she called. He looked up at her immediately, before placing his quill on the table, being careful not to smudge the wet ink on the parchment.

"Yeah?"

"Could you please explain to Ron that if he wants to pass his N.E.W.T.s, then he'll actually have to study in his free periods?"

Harry smiled, then bluntly said, "Ron. Look at Hermione. She's smarter than you are. Listen to her."

"Whatever," Ron grumbled, then picked up some blank parchment to start the Charms assignment.

Smiling and shaking her head, Hermione glanced around the common room, checking for any trouble. Most of the younger students had already gone up to bed, and there were only the older pupils who were doing their homework that were still up. Seeing no obvious trouble, Hermione gathered up her numerous books, and took them to her dormitory.

Upon reaching her bedroom, she placed her books on a pretty oak desk- which was already piled with other literary works- and fed Crookshanks, who had been trailing her since she'd entered the abode. She removed her school robes and changed into some plain grey track pants and a white singlet. Although it was now Autumn, the weather had been acting unseasonably warm.

"It's kind of odd, isn't it Crooks? You'd think that with all the mist from the Dementors that it'd be colder, wouldn't you?"

Crookshanks answered her with an odd grumbling noise which was partially muffled by his mouth full of food.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Hermione continued, "Hey. Funny thought. Death Eaters causing global warming… what do you think?" Leaving that slightly odd train of thought behind, she collapsed onto her four poster bed, free to go over her day in her mind.

It had been… interesting, to say the least. Her Arithmancy lesson had been extremely fascinating, if rather difficult, but then, she always _did_ fancy a challenge.

_Maybe that's why I fancy Ron._

She rolled over on her bed and buried her face deep into a pillow, groaning with embarrassment at her previous thought. She had been comparing Ron to schoolwork. Who compared their potential love interests to such a widely disliked topic?

_Hermione Granger, that's who._

She heard and felt a thump as Crookshanks jumped up onto her mattress. He walked over and sat in the perfect position for Hermione to be able to reach his exposed tummy. He began to pur as she entwined her fingers in his matted fur. As she absentmindedly stroked her pet, her mind strayed back to memories of her Defence class.

It was fantastic. Professor Snape, though not very likeable for his attitude, was nothing less than admirable for his knowledge on the Dark Arts. And the way he had spoken…it was so much like Harry. In fact, she had told Harry this. Harry did not respond to her words. He probably had taken that as an insult, but it wasn't. No where near to an insult.

The highlight of her class? Snape praised her. Hermione didn't care that he went out of his way to insult her first, he _praised_ her. Sure, all he had said was, "But correct in essentials," but that had been enough for her. Snape never had said anything good about her…until that very day. It had been a very satisfying morning.

Potions; that had been unsettling. Well, not the class itself, but the Amortentia which Slughorn had brewed to show them all… that had been odd, not to mention quite awkward. Why did she have to state to the whole class what she had smelt? "I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and-" luckily she had cut herself off at that moment before mentioning the last scent she had detected.

Frankincense. Where did _that_ come from?

The rest of the lesson she had found herself thinking about that development, it had made no sense… until she was rudely shaken back to reality but the fact that Harry was further ahead in his potion than she was.

Hermione got up in a huff, and began to pace her room. Crookshanks growled from his place on the floor where he had been knocked.

That stupid book. Harry had been cheating with that stupid, little book. It was _not_ right! She had put so much effort into her work, and then Harry had completed the bloody potion before her, with the help of that stupid, ruddy cheating book.

"Argh!" she shouted, with no small amount of frustration.

Seeking something else to occupy her murderous thoughts- she really did want to hurt that book- Hermione walked back over to the desk and searched through the piles of literature on her desk. Eventually her hands found the book that she was looking for, a text on essential oils that her mother had given her the previous Christmas.

Hermione flew back to her bed, then sat cross-legged in the middle of her burgundy bedspread, the book open on her lap at the contents page. She ran her finger down the list of oils, until finding that the scent she wanted to know about was found on page 322.

"Okay, here we are; Frankincense," she read, in a whisper. "One of the wise men's gifts to the Lord… that doesn't seem too important. Aah, here we go. Frankincence, when used in aromatherapy, addresses grief, panic, anxiety, paranoia, fear as well as such physical ailments as muscular aches and pains, as well as nervous tension, etcetera, etcetera. It helps to promote tranquillity, openness, transcendence of the ego, connection to higher self, acceptance, awakening of new possibilities, rejuvenation of the mind…"

She sighed, and laid back onto her bed again. _Great_, she thought_, I am attracted to a scent which is basically linked with emotional upset. That doesn't seem something particularly positive._

Hermione picked the book back up and brought it to her eyes. "Frankincense heals people, emotionally and physically… 'cause that just makes me feel _so_ much better."

Standing up once again, she continued her pacing around room. She just couldn't sit still…and it was really, _really_ annoying. She needed to walk… or something. She needed…

"That sounds fun," she said to herself, before kissing Crookshanks on the head and exiting her chamber.

Harry and Ron were still working away as she passed them and stated, "I'm going out…er, prefect rounds."

"Okay," they murmured in unison, without so much as looking up at her. She had expected at least one of them to say that she shouldn't go alone…or something, but they didn't seem to think that she'd get into any danger whilst patrolling the halls. Or they just didn't care…

_God, I'm negative._

Hermione stepped carefully through the portrait hole, and out into the hallway. It was time to visit a good friend.

She had found it halfway through her fifth year. Feeling creative, she had put the room of requirement to good use and asked for a piano, an escape. The room had granted her wish and gave her something better than she could have imagined.

Since that day she had been back a couple of times, and now she was there again. She stood in front of the door for a few seconds, just to go over in her mind, where exactly that she wanted to go.

Hermione stepped into the room, the door groaning, and was greeted by the soft crackle of a fire and, for some odd reason, the steady tick of a metronome. She didn't question why it was there and ticking, as she was distracted by the piano.

She smiled at the familiar view before walking over to rest her hand on its body. Hermione sauntered around the piano, her hand gliding along it, feeling the indentations in the wood as they scraped against her fingers.

_Hello,_ she thought_, I haven't been here for a while have I?_

As she completed her circuit, Hermione let out a snort of laughter. "I am such a psychopath."

It was one thing to love an inanimate object. She loved books, food, and many other things. It was another thing to talk to them… which she had just done.

Hermione became sidetracked by the fire. It was burning, but the actual room was pleasantly cool. She ventured closer to the blue light, and found that it was giving off coldness. Not particularly thinking, she reached out and felt the icy flames licking at her fingers. She experienced a tickling sensation for a few seconds before she got burnt.

"Ouch!" she cried, shaking her left hand profusely, "That was beyond stupid."

The fire was just like the dry ice she had seen in science at her old muggle school. You could hold it for a while, but soon it began to burn. Hermione did think of this similarity, but couldn't resist the urge to touch it anyway. She liked to play with fire; it was one of many bad habits.

It was the ticking of the metronome that drew her back to the piano. She sat upon the squeaky piano seat, and stared at the swinging weight. Back, and forth, it was calming. It didn't change. Just a fixed tick, constant, unchanging.

If only life could be that simple.

Hermione placed her elbow down upon the piano keys, softly, so as not to make it sing, and let her eyes swing with the metronome. She thought.

Since the events at the ministry last year, everything had become so much more complicated. And she felt that she couldn't cope. She had always worried a lot. About her grades, about how no one really liked her, about her parents…and most of all, about the trouble that the boys seemed to get them and herself involved in.

But now, she had to worry for lives. The lives of her friends, her family. Everyone that she knew was now in danger.

The death of Sirius had shaken her. She had no doubt about that. He was irresponsible… and not a particularly good role model for Harry, but she had still liked him. To wake up to discover that he had died, it was sickly bewildering. In what had felt like seconds to her, an innocent person had ceased to exist. It happened so easily, and it could happen again.

She shook her head, trying to rid of those morbid thoughts. She had come to the room to relax, not sink further into her hole of stress and despair.

Hermione began some simple scales, running her fingers up and down the keys. Her fingers really were frustratingly short to play piano. Scales warmed them up, so that they weren't completely hopeless, but if they could only be a centimetre longer…

_Hermione Granger! Do not even contemplate lengthening your fingers with magic. What would your mother say?_

She smiled again, this time at the little voice in her head. She knew it probably wasn't normal to hear little voices like that, but she liked hers. It was always very rational, and it helped her think things over.

Getting bored of thinking about…_basically everything_, she cut off her scales, halfway through G Minor, and listened to the metronome once more. It was at the perfect speed to play _Traumerai_, almost as if some nice person had left it there, just for her.

She began to play the piece by Shumann. _Traumerai,_ her mother had told her, translated to 'Dreaming'. She wasn't sure if that was true or not, but she could easily imagine the music being the voice of a dream.

Hermione loved the sweet simplicity of the song. It was beautiful to listen to, well, it was beautiful to listen to now that she had memorised it. When she had been at the stage of reading the music… it hadn't been pretty.

Hermione took pride in being multitalented. She had many skills; sight reading was not one of them. She was incredibly jealous of the people who could just pick up music sheets and play them to the end without even one stumble.

Eventually _Traumerai_ was complete. Hermione felt much better already. Blissful, almost. She was still worrying about her affections where Ron were concerned, about Harry – who, she now remembered, was now having private lessons with Dumbledore – but not so much about the big things, like Voldemort, like her N.E.W.T.s.

The bliss aside however, Hermione felt sort of empty. It had been like this for a while. It wasn't a particularly nice feeling. And it never left. When she was happy, distraught, or_ almost_ in love, the emptiness was still there.

_Tick, tick, tick._

She grabbed the metronome, bringing its monotonous sound to an end. She silenced the fire. Now all she could hear was her own breathing.

Hermione placed both her hands down upon the keys once more, checking their position, and shut her eyes, then began to swing back and forth from C major to A minor.

She opened her mouth to sing.

* * *

I apologise for its shortness... if that's a word. I will try and make the next chapter longer. I just felt that this one was dragging too much and I didn't want to make everyone fall asleep. I would really like to hear people's opinions on the story. I took me an hor and a bit to write this. It takes two minutes to write a review. Think about it - Billy 


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